


mint condition (fresh out of the box)

by BirchBow (chaoticTenebrism)



Category: Motorcity (Cartoon)
Genre: Complicated But Enthusiastic Consent, Cyborg Chuck (motorcity), Cyborgs, Even thought that tag makes it look like his full name is Cyborg Chuck ALA Cyborg Dan, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Gangbang, It's not like he has a full name to tag by unfortunately so here we are I guess, Multi, Sexual Roleplay, Temporary Amnesia, induced amnesia, sigh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 12:22:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16618880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticTenebrism/pseuds/BirchBow
Summary: There's nothing more disconcerting for a bot than waking up with an empty memory bank and no knowledge of a prime directive.   There's nothing more reassuring than finding that directive, and performing it well.  Sometimes it's just nice, to know exactly what you're for.





	mint condition (fresh out of the box)

The unit is activated in a small box, on a stand, in the dark.

He stares ahead, feeling the stand support his joints, holding him upright and leaning slightly back—when he reaches out and pushes at the dark, it moves, and he can step off the stand, careful. The room outside is dark, parts and tools scattered around, cool. There are neon lights and distant voices somewhere to his left, and darkness everywhere else, a vast, dark space.

He’s not wearing a shirt, just underwear, and the underwear holds something inside him, something big and heavy and cool that feels like metal. He starts to reach down, but a warning jabs at his mind— _unauthorized, not permitted._ He can’t.

It’s big, and it feels bigger when he starts to walk, slow and aimless and confused, toward the voices.

The voices are coming from a structure, a building, surrounded by brightly-colored vehicles. The unit picks his way through them, shivering a little in the cool, damp air, and finds a set of rickety stairs. Picks his way up them, breath hitching as the heavy thing inside him rubs at sensitive nerves. Tries to move to take it out again and huffs as another warning swats his hand firmly away.

The voices are coming from a group of people sitting at a long counter on stools. They stop talking and look over when he comes up to their level; three boys and a girl, staring at him.

“Now, what are you doin’ outta your box?” says the tallest, taller than the unit, dark skin, black hair, dark eyes, and comes to look him over, familiar and not hesitating to touch him. Run big, long-fingered hands down his arms. “We didn’t wake you up, you’re supposed to be in maintenance.”

“In maintenance,” says the unit.

“Yeah,” says the boy. “You remember? There was a power surge, hit you pretty good, shorted you unconscious.”

“No,” says the unit. “Power surge? I don’t, I don’t remember. Where are we?”

“We’re at the hideout,” says another one of them, the girl, big dark eyes and long dark hair. She’s much shorter than the dark-eyed boy, much shorter than the unit, too. She comes up to him and touches his chin, turns his face toward her. “...What do you mean you don’t remember?”

“I don’t _remember_ ,” says the unit again, and shakes his head a little, not enough to pull away from her touch. “I don’t, I don’t remember. I don’t remember. Do I know you guys? Do you know me? Who—am I, how do you know me? Who are you, what’s wrong with me?!”

“Hey!” A third voice, louder—another dark-haired boy, short and tan. He pushes in, looks the unit up and down. “Stop windin’ yourself up,” he says to the unit. “Guys he totally doesn’t remember what’s goin’ on. You don’t even remember Texas, skinny?”

“What’s Texas Skinny?” says the unit. He’s starting to feel...bad, wrong, scared. He should remember, he doesn’t remember. They know him and he doesn’t know them. “What happened to me, am I—am I broken?”

“Oh, man,” says the tall boy. “No, hey. No. You’re perfect, man. You’re great. We can figure this out, okay? C’mere. Come on.”

The unit breathes, and nods, and lets himself be led forward to the bar, sat down on one of the stools in the middle of them all—jittering and catching his breath as the heavy thing inside him shifts and presses against something that—that feels good, feels so good. He gasps as he sits, feels something in him respond to the pleasure even through the fear and the confusion. Something hot and good and wanting.

The last boy who didn’t come over has dark brown hair and lighter brown skin, dark eyes and, right now, a worried frown on his face. The others are all gathered around the unit, on all sides. Pressing his back against the bar.

“I’m Mike,” says the brown-haired boy, warm and gentle, and reaches out, touches the unit’s face. “You don’t remember us at all, huh?”

The unit shakes his head, shakes all over, shakes. Mike nods and keeps touching him, just kind of absently stroking the unit's hair back, touching his cheek.  It feels really unreasonably good. “We’ll see if we can fix that, okay, dude?”

“Okay,” says the unit. “Okay. Yeah. Okay.”

“This is Dutch,” says Mike. “That’s Texas, she’s Julie. You’re—you’re our bot.”

“Yours?” says the unit. It feels—right, yes, he’s theirs. Makes sense, that he does maintenance in their “hideout”, that they all know him, that they look at him like that. It’s something to cling to. “...I’m yours.”

“Yeah,” says the short boy—Texas. “So you don’t gotta be scared, ‘cause you’re ours no matter what.”

“...Okay,” says the unit again, and sniffs, nods. “Is… What’s my _function_ , what do I do for you? I can still do it, I’ll learn. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know why he’s apologizing—he must have done something wrong, a power surge, he should have been protected somehow, should have avoided this. Shouldn’t be making them teach him all this again.

“You help out around the base,” says the tall one with the big, gentle hands. Dutch, his name’s Dutch. His hand is resting on the small of the unit’s back, and that feels good, too. “Stand around and look pretty, sometimes.”

“Pretty?” repeats the unit, bewildered.

‘Yeah, man,” says Dutch, and the hand on the unit’s back rubs a slow circle. “We like how you look. You’re a handsome guy, uh...a really...aesthetically-pleasing bot.”

“You help with the cars and make us all laugh and talk to us,” says the girl, Julie. “And we play games with you.”

“Sexy games,” Texas contributes.

“Tex,” says Mike, frowning.

“What?” says Texas, totally unrepentant. “It’s true.”

“He doesn’t know what’s goin’ on,” Mike says, “We can’t just treat him like we always do.”

“You can,” the unit says. “No, you can, I can—I can handle, whatever you use me for, I can do it! I promise. Please don’t get rid of me—”

“Of course we won’t,” says Julie. She’s watching him with big, dark, intense eyes, and she winced when he said _get rid of me,_ like she’s upset he’d even be afraid of that. “Don’t worry, we’ll still use you. We’d never throw you away.”

Mike makes a noise the unit can’t interpret, and when he looks over Mike is looking away from Julie with a strange look on his face, kind of stressed and kind of flushed. “Yeah,” is all he says. “No, yeah. You’re...ours. We’d never do that, bud.”

“I’m your service bot,” the unit says, trying to make sure. Trying to understand. “And you like how I look. We...play games, sometimes?”

“She was talkin’ about sex,” says Texas. “You do real games too sometimes, at game nights, but Texas always wins at game nights.” Julie swats him on the arm. “—But you’re pretty good too, or whatever.”

“Sex,” repeats the unit. It sounds familiar, but—there’s just so much _missing,_ blank files of memories that should be there but aren’t. He knows--he likes sex, it's good, but the details are maddeningly out of his reach.  “I...I don’t—I’ll learn, again, I don’t—”

“You don’t remember?” Dutch’s eyebrows rise. “Geez, how much did you wipe, man?”

“I— Wipe?” the unit repeats, scared again, uncertain. “I thought there was a power surge—”

“Oh,” says Dutch, and looks guilty, unhappy. “Oh, I mean—nah, I mean, that’s what I meant, I just—no, you’re good. Hey, it wasn’t your fault, okay? We’re not blamin’ you for this, you didn’t anything wrong.”

“You’re ours,” says Texas.

“We love you,” says Mike, firm and fierce like he’s challenging somebody by saying it. “You’re great."

“You’re our good boy,” says Julie, and strokes the shell of his ear, the side of his neck. Another little shiver of that good, warm feeling unfurls in the unit’s stomach.  This, he's pretty sure, is definitely related to sex, and he'd definitely like to try more of it.  He leans into her hand, and she smiles at him and rubs the corner of his jaw with her thumb, combs her fingers through the roots of his hair. “You’re the best bot we could ask for. You make us—really happy.”

They’re all pushing in around him, warm and close. The unit shivers to be so close to them, and Mike reaches out and touches his cheek again, cups the back of his neck and presses their mouths together. The unit doesn’t remember—but his body does, his body bites Mike’s lip and kisses him back and moans just a little bit, just quietly, as more of those hot touches of pleasure spiral through him.

"We don't have to," says Mike quietly, breathless.  Pulls back when the unit tries to kiss him again.  "No, listen, you don't have to just because it's--what we were doing before.  We can just work on getting your memory back if you want, seriously.  You're, uh...ours, you're ours either way, no matter what, so if you don't want--"

"I do, though," says the unit, because he  _does,_ he really seriously does.  They seem really nice, and he knows it's going to feel really, really good, and he _wants to._   "I, uh.  I, please?"

"You sure, buddy?" says Mike, but he's already leaning in for another kiss, lingering.  "You... _mm_..."

"Sounds like he's pretty sure, Mike," says Julie, and her hand slides down the unit's back and squeezes his butt.  "Cleaning up after the surge can wait.  We need to remind our bot what he’s for.”

“Texas is down,” says Texas, and Dutch makes a low, warm, agreeing noise, kind of breathless. The unit whimpers into Mike’s mouth as more hands start touching him; stroking his hair, his butt, his sides. One pair of fingers finds his nipple and pinches and it feels sharp and good enough he gasps into Mike’s mouth, moaning. When he leans into the touch, it makes the heavy thing in him shift again, and adds a sharp spark of pleasure to the rising current that’s already hotwiring his body.

“Is that why—” he starts, and can’t speak again, suddenly, as the hands on his chest pinch again, tugging. “Ah, ah, _ah,_ hha…”

“Why what?” says Julie, and her long nails trail down his spine, send shivers ricocheting out across his skin.

“Is, the, this, I’m—” he reaches back and down, feels the line of his own hip, the hard edge of whatever’s inside of him. “That’s what this is for? It feels—ah, _hnnh_ , feels good…”

“God,” says Dutch quietly, and those must be his hands playing with the unit’s nipples, rolling and stroking now, never settling into the same pattern for more than a second. “Yeah, we told you to put that in this morning, keep you—keep you all ready for us. You like that?”

“It’s big,” the unit manages. His body is breathing so hard, like he’s exerting himself, but he’s not doing anything except squirming aimlessly into all the touches on him at once, trapped and amazed. “Feels, feels big and, _heavy_ , and, it’s good—”

“Not as good as Texas’s dick is gonna feel,” Texas growls, and a broad, calloused hand rubs between the unit’s legs, grips him through his underwear and makes him shudder. “Yeah, ha, don’t matter if you remember or not, you’re still gonna take it. Get you all noisy—”

“I do love it when you’re noisy,” Julie says sweetly, and her nails stroke his ear again, the side of his neck, feather-light and teasing. The unit quivers, shakes, lets out a trembling moan, and Julie coos “ _Good_ boy.” and Mike moans back and bites the unit’s lower lip, sucks on it.

“You look so good, too,” Dutch says, and the unit feels his face heat. He ducks his head automatically to hide behind his long hair and then gasps as Dutch takes a handful of it and guides his head back so everybody can see his face, the bright red of his cheeks. “Don’t hide, man, let us see— You’re doin’ so good.”

“Aww, he wants us to touch his dick, huh?” Texas says, and gives a rough squeeze as he says it, rubbing, groping. The unit twitches and whines. “You got it, Texas is _on_ it.”

“Love how sensitive you are,” Julie murmurs near his ear, and her fingers come back to his chest, find a nipple gone hard and aching with stimulation and feather over it light enough he squeaks. “You like that?”

“Yes, yeah, please,” gasps the unit, and Julie’s hands falter for a second, like she wasn’t expecting an answer. Then she hums quietly, hungry and pleased, and the tip of a long fingernail tickles lightly around and around but never quite touching.

“You sound good asking for it,” she says, and licks the shell of his ear, nips at it as he writhes. “Ask, nice and loud. Beg.”

He does, less and less coherent as the others all moan or growl and close in around him, touches going even hungrier. Julie tickles and teases while Texas gropes and rubs, and Mike is still kissing his face and his mouth and his neck and Dutch has one hand in his hair and the other one on his butt, sometimes squeezing, sometimes playing with the heavy toy inside him. The unit goes from pleading to sobbing to wordlessly whining in entreaty.

“Okay,” says Texas, rough and sudden after the unit lets out an especially loud wail of pleasure. “Get him over the bar.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” says Dutch, hoarse like his mouth is dry, and people are manhandling the unit over all of a sudden, and he moans and lets himself be moved. His body feels tight and shaky and electric, but his brain feels all melted and soft, full of heat and want. He wouldn’t fight them, but even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. He’s bent over, legs spread around a bar stool, and somebody crosses his wrists behind his back and says “Keep those there. Good boy.” And he is, he will be, he will. He does, gasping against the smooth countertop, cool against his fevered cheek. Keeps his hands behind his back, a good boy, a good bot. Theirs, they want him and value him and he’s theirs.

They slide his underwear off, and hands find his bare ass, feel it up, rub and pinch. It feels good, feels like—they grope at him like he’s something delicious they want to take apart, like they can’t not get their hands on him, and it makes him feel filthy and wanted and used and _good._ He arches his back for their touches, moans when that gets him a sharp smack on the ass.

“You like that?” Julie says again, and the unit twitches his hips, clenches his hands behind his back and whines hopefully, nodding. “Geez. Wow. Well, I think he needs a spanking before we let Texas at him.” Her hand comes to the toy inside him, and the unit can’t touch it but she can, she does, she has to, he needs her to. He whines again, more, louder, tries to find words and makes just a messy string of wet nonsense, panted against the bar. Mike bends over him to kiss the side of his neck, bite down on it, suck. The unit whimpers, again and again, and then wails full-voiced, the noise punching out of him, as somebody does something and the toy _buzzes,_ hums inside him and lights up nerve-endings that already feel stretched and tight and sensitive.

“You think you’re full now, man,” Dutch murmurs, and his long fingers stroke the unit’s hair. So many things are happening, it’s, he can’t, he needs—it’s so good, it’s so good he can’t—he’s dying, ending, he needs more. “Wait until she starts spankin’ you. Wait till you squeeze down on that big thing— _God,_ you look so damn good like this…”

“I’m,” the unit gets out, and then cries out as Julie hits him, swats his ass sharply and then gropes the cheek she hit, rubbing the sting into something hot and good. “Ah! Please!”

“Yeah, go Julie!” says Texas, and Mike kisses the unit’s cheek, his open mouth, swallows his desperate sounds as Texas starts playing with his dick and Julie keeps on hitting him.

She spanks him ten times, and the burn is almost too much but the hungry way they all touch him through it is so good, it turns the pain into something sweet and desperate. Julie gives him the last swat, pinches him so it burns. Rubs the sting away and leans forward to kiss his bare, trembling back.

“So good,” she soothes, and the unit sobs, so hard he’s aching, dripping, knees trembling. “What a good boy. You’re doing exactly what we want, you’re _so_ good. Now...Mike, come here…”

Dutch helps the unit stagger back away from the bar, weak-kneed and panting. Julie pulls them all away—over to the other part of the room, to a faded couch. Pushes Mike down onto it and opens his belt as he groans, pulls his pants open and gets his dick out, hard and flushed and nice, good, the unit wants it in his mouth so badly his mouth is watering. Julie gives it a stroke, makes Mike gasp out a beautiful noise and then pushes her own pants down and shimmies back into his lap, settles down onto him slow and smooth so Mike _whines_.

“Do you want to sit back for now?” she asks, only a little breathless as Mike pants and twitches and gasps with the effort of being still. She’s looking at Dutch. He’s nodding, it’s—something she knows, she knows what he likes. “I think Mike needs some bruises to remember tonight by, maybe you can put some work into that.”

“Girl, you have the best ideas,” Dutch says, and settles down on the couch next to them, leaning up to catch Mike’s mouth with his and getting a handful of Mike’s hair to pull on. He only kisses for a second before he gives Mike’s hair a sharp yank, and Mike moans as Dutch holds his head back and turned away, biting down on his neck, his ears.

The unit is watching, dumbstruck by how beautiful they are, dick still aching and arms crossed behind his back, when Texas’s hand comes down hard on his already-reddened ass, stinging the sore skin. The unit shrieks and jumps, and Texas laughs but wraps an arm around him a second later, rubbing at the base of the unit’s dick like an apology, making his legs tremble dangerously under him.

“You ready for somethin’ _real_?” Texas growls, and his hand comes to the toy, pulls at it. The wide part inside pulls suddenly, stretching, and the unit moans and buckles, leaning hard on Texas’s hard, broad shoulders, gasping. “Yeah this thing’s big but you’re gonna like this better, somethin’ actually fillin’ you up, poundin’ you so hard you ain’t gonna walk tonight—”

“Texas,” says Julie, and the unit sobs as Texas looks up, distracted, with the toy still half in and half out and _big._ “Bring him over here before you play with him. I want his mouth.”

“Jules,” Mike breathes, and groans as Julie glances back at him and half-lifts herself, rising and falling on his dick, riding him slow and easy. “Nnh, _hhah,_ Julie, ah…!”

“Do you want to hear him, Mike?” says Julie sweetly, and Mike moans again, twitching as Dutch bites a dark red mark into his arched neck. “If you want to hear him scream I can have you touch me instead—I know he was your bot first. We’re all very grateful you decided to share.”

“I’m—Mike’s?” the unit gasps, and Mike shudders like those words affect him almost as much as Julie on his dick.

“Use—” Mike stops, swallows, licks his lips. “Nah, I—use, use his mouth. He l-likes that. And— _ah,_ Julie, hha, oh.”

“So generous,” Julie says smugly, and beckons. Texas gives the unit a push, drops a folded blanket on the ground and shoves him down onto it. Bends him down, so his face rests on Mike’s knee, his cheek against the inside of Julie’s pale thigh.

The unit doesn’t remember, but knows, but doesn’t remember, but knows what to do. Nuzzles between her thighs and kisses her, open-mouthed and filthy, and feels Julie’s thighs tense around him, hears her moan. Moans himself a second later as Texas grabs his hips with one rough hand and finishes pulling the toy out, leaving him empty inside.

The emptiness doesn’t last long, because a second later Texas is pushing into him, blunt and hard and not slow, drawing back and forth over the places the toy left stretched and aching, rubbing a spot inside him the vibrations couldn’t reach. He wants to touch, but he can’t, he won’t, his hands are behind his back and he’s good, he’s a good bot. He’s their bot, he does as he’s told.

“Julie,” Mike mumbles, and makes a noise that’s half a whimper, thighs trembling against the unit’s chest and shoulder, under his chin. “I gotta, I need to move, Julie come _on_ …”

“Mmm,” says Julie, and her hands find the bot’s long hair, pull him in by it, hips twitching against his face. “Wait your turn.”

It all blurs, after that—Texas fucking him, Julie’s taste on his tongue, Mike shaking and going still and shaking again as Julie sighs and shifts around him. Dutch biting Mike and then clawing Texas’s back red and then sucking marks into the back of the unit’s neck, telling him how beautiful he is, how pretty, how handsome, how sexy he looks. Dutch touching himself, the way he groans as he comes, a second before Texas grunts and slams his hips forward and does the same. Julie curling her legs around his head and spasming against his tongue, moaning, gasping high and sweet.

Mike makes a sharp, unhappy noise when Julie lifts herself back off his dick. It’s flushed dark, slick from her, and the unit’s jaw is sore and his face is all sticky but it still makes his mouth water. He shifts forward on wobbly knees, kisses the tip of it. Sways, presses his cheek against one lean, strong thigh. Licks weakly at the head of Mike’s dick, clumsy with exhaustion and relentless arousal. He feels like he should have come by now, over and over, like he’s felt more good things than anybody should be able to. But something in his programming is holding that back from him, making him wait, and he’s helpless and it feels so, so good.

Mike makes a noise that’s half moan and half growl, reaches down and hauls the unit up into his lap, up off his knees and onto the cushions. The unit squeaks, too worn out and relentlessly turned on to do more than squirm, and Mike manhandles him around, takes his thighs and sinks the unit down sharp and fast onto his dick.

It’s a lot, being spread back open again after Texas took him so hard, and the unit cries out, shudders taut and then falls back against Mike as Mike growls in his ear and _moves_ him, panting against his ear and lifting his whole body to thrust into him.

“Gonna come for me, buddy,” Mike mumbles in his ear, and wraps an arm around the unit’s chest, holding him upright so Mike’s dick rubs that hot, oversensitive place inside him with every stroke. He’s crying out, over and over again, pleading. “Almost done, almost there, I’ve gotcha— Executive override— _nnh—_ executive—cancel, cancel the program. And—come for me, dude, come on, you did so good, you did good—”

The amnesia override breaks just as Mike reaches around and gives Chuck’s dick a few fast, sharp strokes, and Chuck goes “ _Oh_ —” and then screams as he falls apart.

He’s not aware of a lot for a minute or two after that—Mike groaning, a rush of warmth inside him, Mike’s lips wet and hot and open against his shoulder as he comes down. People talking.

“Chuck,” somebody is saying. Shaking him. “Hey, man, talk to me.”

“Mmngh,” says Chuck, and bats at the hand lazily. His muscles feel kind of watery and generally unreliable, and he doesn’t really feel like getting up, even to get Mike’s dick out of him.

“Come on,” says Texas, and Chuck yelps and jolts upright as a hand pinches one of his thoroughly-abused nipples. “Be a good bot, haha.”

Chuck swears at him, and then swears some more as the words bring back a few key points of everything that just happened. “You were—” he starts, and catches his breath as Mike groans and tugs at his hips, oversensitive and worn out. Climbing off his lap is tricky, Chuck’s legs are still pretty much useless, but he manages it and flops down against Mike’s side instead, glaring dizzily at the other Burners. “What was all that _hnnh_ — ‘good boy’—stuff?! I, you, hah, you were supposed to—”

“Order you around, treat you like a machine, I _know,_ ” Dutch says, and pets Chuck’s hair again, flicks the ends of it out of his eyes. “You were scared though, man, you had no idea what was goin’ on. Couldn’t be a jerk to you when you were lookin’ at us like that.” He raises an eyebrow, grins, and Chuck feels his face go hot again. “You’re too cute to be mean to.”

“Fuck you,” Chuck mumbles, because he never has a good defense for when Dutch is all— _charming_ at him.

“Besides,” says Julie, lazy and satisfied, and pokes him with a foot. “You were being a _really_ good boy.”

Chuck shoots her a look and Julie sticks her tongue out at him and pulls herself over to flop down against his side, dropping her head against his bare shoulder. She’s still just wearing her T-shirt and no pants, but she doesn’t seem to care.

“Really good,” Mike mumbles, and attaches himself to Chuck’s side like a barnacle, throws an arm and a leg over him and pretty much pins him to the couch. Buries his face in Chuck’s neck and sighs happily against the bite-marks there.

“Mike, we need to shower,” says Chuck. Mike shakes his head and squeezes harder. “Mikey, come on.”

“Heck yeah, cuddle pile!” Texas says, and wraps himself around Mike in turn, winding a hand through to pat Chuck’s thigh consolingly. “Showers are dumb, anyway.”

“Showers are great,” Dutch says, “But they can wait.” He sits down on Julie’s other side, and then lowers himself carefully across all their laps, face squished against Mike’s thigh, warm weight pinning everybody down to the couch. “You did good, man. ‘S naptime, now.”

“But—”

“Shh,” says Julie, and pushes gently up on his chin with a knuckle until he stops talking. Pats his cheek, strokes a thumb sleepily past his lips. “Good. Good boy.”

Chuck grumbles at her and then gives up and settles down into the warmth of Mike’s arms, the solid weight on his lap. Somebody’s hand resting on his stomach, tracing sleepily back and forth across his hip bone.

He’ll have to write a new amnesia program when they're done cuddling. Maybe one that doesn’t leave him floundering and lost and scared, since that obviously makes the others want to spoil him rotten and that wasn’t the point of this. Even though it was...really nice. Even though he kind of loved it, kind of still loves it, kind of feels hot and foggy inside with— _you’re a handsome guy, you’re ours, we love you, you make us happy_.  Maybe next time Chuck can program in the sexbot thing, instead of making the others improv it like that, because wow did Mike look uncomfortable trying to sell that one.  It makes it harder, trying to program amnesia and implant concepts at the same time, but--

"...Stop thinking for like two seconds, dude," says Mike, muffled into Chuck's neck.  "Do I have to override you to go to chill out, or what?"

"Oh, that's rich coming from you," Chuck mutters, and flops his head over on top of Mike's with a long, hard-done-by sigh.  "...Where was all this attitude like fifteen minutes ago?  We're gonna have to work on your 'registration holder' act before the next--"

"Sure we will, man," says Dutch, and flops over a little to kiss one of Chuck's knees.  "Now go to  _sleep_."

Grumpily, the unit complies.


End file.
